


I'm Still Deciding Who I Want to be Today

by Emilys_List



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, F/F, Post Bartlett Administration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-19
Updated: 2004-09-19
Packaged: 2019-05-15 19:38:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilys_List/pseuds/Emilys_List
Summary: Cady Gardner-Moss turns two.





	I'm Still Deciding Who I Want to be Today

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**I'm Still Deciding Who I Want To Be Today**

**by: emily's list**

**Character(s):** Donna, Amy  
**Pairing(s):** Amy/Donna  
**Category(s):** Angst, Post Administration, Slash  
**Rating:** ADULT  
**Summary:** Cady Gardner-Moss turns two.  
**Author's Note: Smut gives way to angst. It's the natural progression.** Title _totally_ stolen from Ms. Difranco's "Light of Some Kind." Apologies. 

She hums ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic' as she licks pink frosting off of my nipple. 

Any type of lust I had is gone as I begin to laugh. 

I sit up on my elbows. "Amy, what are you--" 

"Lie back," she says. With her lips hovering above my skin, I comply. 

She goes back to licking, her tongue circling my nipple. 

"I can't believe you made frosting. Why did you--" 

"Do you care?" she asks, frustrated. 

"No," I decide, as her hand slides between my legs. She begins to stroke my clit, and I make a small sigh. Her tongue speeds up on my nipple until there's no left. "Why is it pink icing?" 

Amy lays her head on my stomach. "To match your nipples. What is your--" 

"Fine. I'll be quiet." Unconsciously, I begin to hum ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic,' and I start to giggle. "What was with that..." 

I don't finish my sentence because her tongue has joined her fingers on my clit. She starts to hum again, but this time I don't mind. She inserts one finger slowly, then two. Her motions become faster, steady, pulsing. My right hand travels to my nipple, and my eyes close involuntarily. 

"Mom! Mommy!" 

My eyes blink open, ashamed that I'm so annoyed. I look over to the baby monitor, the machine that transmits the anguished whimpers of my daughter. 

Amy's cheek rests on my thigh. "I'll go," she volunteers with a groan. 

"Good, because I don't think I can walk," I tell her. She stares at me as she puts on my robe. 

"That's what I like to hear," she says, leaning down to kiss me. I pull the duvet over my body, and I lay on my side, watching the monitor. 

"Cady. What's the matter? Don't cry. There's no crying on birthdays. Well, I mean, there's that song, which I've never really liked. Crying over Johnny? It's a waste of time. I guess you should cry if you want to. It is your party." 

"Pupcakes?" 

"Yes. Cupcakes. With pink frosting, I may add." Donna heard Amy sigh. "Eleven two-year-olds for four hours. Your mommy and I are going to go insane, aren't we?" Amy lets out a laugh. "Was that a yawn? You need more sleep before your friends get here." 

"No sleep," Cady answers sleepily. 

I get out of bed to pull on sweatpants and a tank top. The advantage to being with a woman is that your wardrobe doubles. 

I miss the rest of their conversation as I walk down the hall to Cady's room. "...where these two years went. They were so sudden, and now you're here. All grown up." 

"She's asleep, and she's not all grown up," I say from the doorway. Amy turns to offer me a half-smile, and turns back to the crib. 

"She's faking. She's a faker." I walk to the crib and put my arms around Amy. "She's just... perfect," Amy says, leaning her head against mine. "I want her to be a baby again." 

"I want to go back to bed." 

She takes a long look at the crib before turning to me. "I like your plan," she says as she leads me from the nursery. 

"She's getting older too quickly, but sometimes I love it," I confide. "She'll learn a new word, or figure something out... I can't get enough." 

Amy pushes me against the wall of our bedroom. "I understand the sentiment," she mumbles as she kisses my mouth. Her hand snakes inside the waistband of my sweatpants. When she can't find the right angle, she yanks my pants down. Her body presses against mine, and I pull the tank top off. Her head bends to kiss this spot behind my ear; I groan with lust. She touches my clit as I untie the sash of her robe. Her soft skin presses against me, and I close her tighter in my arms. 

Something she does, the way she moves her fingers, works so well. "Oh god, I'm so fucking close," I sigh into her ear. She puts three fingers inside me, quickly moving me closer to an orgasm. I wait, almost expecting Cady to cry. When she doesn't, I take Amy's nipple between my fingers as she increases her speed inside me. 

My orgasm is surprising when I come quickly, and I sigh happily against her. Amy withdraws her fingers. I lean bonelessly against the wall. "Are we pleased?" 

I nod. "Your turn..." She kisses me, but eventually pulls away. 

"I need to ice a dozen cupcakes." 

"Does that mean I need to ice a dozen cupcakes, too?" She nods slowly. "We should probably get dressed." Amy continues to nod. 

"Can I get a rain check for later, though?" I pull my robe off her shoulders, down her arms, and onto my body. 

"Look at you. All bare to me." She ties my robe shut, leaving her hands at my waist. She closes her eyes briefly, and I wonder what that means. 

I kneel on the floor, helping her into her sweatpants. From my position, I look up to her and we keep eye contact as I stand, her tank top in my hands. I lower my head to kiss her breasts, gently, before I finish dressing her. 

I tell her I need to shower before I'm presentable for the two-year-old brigade. and she says she'll jump in after me. I walk towards our bathroom before remembering my pressing question. "Why ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic?'" 

Amy shrugs, fussing with the tank top strap. "It got stuck in my head last night. I watched a Civil War documentary on the History Channel." 

I nod. "That's annoying," I say sympathetically. "I had ‘When Doves Cry' in my head last week." I get to the bathroom, slipping my robe off and hanging it on the hook. 

I turn the shower on, feeling the spray to find an adequate temperature. Amy joins me, washing her hands at the sink. "Is... who's coming?" 

"Ginger and her son; your sister, but she's leaving the kids with Dan; Andie is only bringing Huck, Molly has soccer; Margaret is bringing Boyfriend of the Moment..." I step into the shower, putting my face up to the spray. "CJ is dropping by; Zoey and Charlie will be late; and Josh is coming. Why didn't you just ask that question." 

I apply shampoo as I hear her have nothing to say. "What if I don't want him here?" she asks in a small voice. 

I ask her to repeat herself and she says, "I'm sure he has better things to do." 

"He wants to be here, Amy." 

I suppose she's feeling brave and obnoxious, because she asks me again, "What if I don't want him here?" She asks loudly, and I fight the impulse to get angry. 

"We talked about this. He has every right to be here." 

"No, he doesn't. He has no rights, Donna." 

I put body wash on my loofah. "I invited him. He's coming. End of story." 

"He's not welcome. He can't just play Daddy whenever he wants. I can't help but re--" 

She stops speaking, and this silence is immediately followed by the sound of glass breaking. 

"Shit!" 

I open the curtain. "Don't get out. I dropped... I dropped the jar with the bubble bath." 

She removes the dust buster from the charger when I ask her why she was holding the jar. "I don't know," she says. 

I finish my shower, but I stay put. "What were you going to say?" 

She's now picking up glass shards. "When?" 

"Before. You said, ‘I can't help but re... and then you stopped speaking." 

"I don't remember." 

"You're lying," I tell her as I get out of the shower. Immediately, I step on a piece of glass and let out a yelp. 

"I told you not to get out," she sighs as she looks for tweezers and bandages in the medicine cabinet. I sit on the edge of the tub. 

"You were talking about Josh and how he can't be a Dad whenever he wants." My head snaps up with recognition. "Regret. ‘I can't help but regret it.'" 

"That's not what I was going to say." Amy sits on the closed toilet seat - close but not too close. I lay my leg across her lap, and she looks at my foot. 

"On our daughter's second birthday, please refrain from regretting her existence." 

She pulls out the shard in one movement; I wince. 

"I don't regret one moment of her life," she says, looking into my eyes, daring me. When she looks away, it's only so she can apply a band-aid. "What I don't like is that you're still tethered to him." She gets up. "Stay here, I'm getting you sandals." I watch her back, watch her throw me my robe; I wonder how she came to mother so severely. Amy returns with flip-flops. "He's her dad, for sure, but we agreed that he wasn't going to--" 

"When will you get off this subject?" I ask sharply, donning my robe and sandals. 

"I don't care that he wants to be involved, that's not what bothers me most. What really gets to me is that you like it. You like him in the mix, you like the drama." She slaps the dust buster into its charger. "If you want him, just say it, Donna." 

Amy stands there, her arms loose at her sides, her posture vulnerable-but-not. 

"How can you say that?" I ask softly. A part of me wants to touch her, but I stay still. I hug myself, cold from my shower. 

"He's her father. She has us, Josh, a host of aunts and uncles -- related and acquired - and I don't see anything wrong with tremendous amounts of love." 

"I'm not talking about Cady anymore, I'm talking about you," she says quietly. 

‘I want you' sits in my mouth, but I am unable to say it. All I can tell her is that, "We have a party to get ready for." She leaves me in the bathroom. 

I'm not sure that she finished picking all the glass up.


End file.
